Chapter Text
For the first time in a long while, Peter Parker had a good dream. He had a Guardian Angel come down from heaven to talk to him and tell him he remembered him! The very thought that there was a heaven out there was amazing, and the concept that maybe, just maybe, heaven hadn’t forgotten him like the world had (that May might not have forgotten him up in heaven) was worth enough to let him sleep unbothered for more than his current standard of three hours per night.
He woke up right alongside his usually pointless alarm of 7 a.m. in the morning, giving him just enough time to yawn, stand up energized, and get ready for the day; the kitchen area inviting him with delicious–
Peter’s eyes snapped wide open, and he jerked up, his mouth drying and his mind clearing almost immediately because someone was in his apartment.
Shit.
Had the dream not been a dream…? But how was that possible? How could there be someone in his apartment, someone who knew him and not just as Spiderman, but as Peter Parker, and as the Peter Parker they didn’t forget?
His breath caught, and for a few crucial seconds, he couldn’t move. The thought of someone knowing him, knowing who he was from a before he had completely and utterly given up on (a before he could never bear to forget) was utterly tantalizing… and just as wrecking.
Because if there was someone who remembered him, anyone who remembered him, why couldn’t it be Ned or MJ? Why couldn’t it be Happy? Or Stephen or Pepper, or– or–
His eyes burned.
Then he heard a clang again, and he forced himself to breathe and calm down because there was a stranger in his apartment, and he couldn’t exactly let that go, no matter who he claimed to be or what he remembered.
He pushed up, blinked to clear his eyes, and walked resolutely in the direction of the sounds and the smells, and came face to face with a dark-haired man in a trenchcoat, one hand holding a pan with a suspiciously burnt… something in it, and in the other, a plate with two perfectly cooked pancakes piled with whipped cream and strawberries, a small pool of syrup on the side. He had barely any expression on his face, but there was just something about him, his general veneer, that made him look like a deer in the headlights, even if Peter hadn’t actually ever seen a deer in the headlights.
“Peter,” The man said, blinking, putting the plate down, and stepping away with the pan. “You’re awake.”
“Uh,” Peter said.
The man recovered faster than Peter could. “Come, have breakfast. I imagined you would be hungry in the morning.” He turned around and placed the pan in the sink.
Peter shook his head. “No, wait– what the he–” He cleared his throat. “What– what are you doing in my apartment?” His voice broke at the end.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Did I not explain it last night?”
Peter’s mind struggled to bring up the details of the apparently-not-a-dream memory. “... Mr. Castiel?” He asked.
Castiel’s mouth curled into a small smile. “Hello, Peter Parker,” He greeted kindly. “I am an Angel from heaven, and I have come to help.”
Peter’s stomach gurgled with hunger, but his mind didn’t understand. “Angels don’t exist,” He said stupidly.
Castiel raised an eyebrow. “No?” He asked. “But I was assured you humans would be more amenable to belief in the supernatural due to the revelation of the existence of the Nordic deities?”
Peter opened his mouth for a few seconds, then closed it because point to the strange dude. “That’s not–” He grit his teeth. “Are you also an alien, then?”
Castiel shook his head. “No, I am an angel,” He said again. “We are quite different, thank you.”
“But–” Peter struggled to comprehend. “Thor’s an alien.”
Castiel frowned. “... I assure you, he is not. You may consider him one as the Nordic abode lies within the bounds of space and time, but his existence in essence is supernatural, not scientific.”
Peter frowned because it wasn’t like he was lying. He didn’t think Thor or Loki had ever really said they were aliens, only that Asgard was in space. And technically, didn’t space mean for them anywhere that was not on Earth? That would ostensibly also mean heaven–
He stopped.
He couldn’t. He could–
His breath came out ragged. “M– May,” He choked. “Is she…?”
Castiel’s smile shifted into something small, sad, and yet reassuring. “May Parker’s soul is in heaven,” He said, inclining his head.
Peter collapsed on the seat in front of the counter, barely holding up his head. Tears pooled in his eyes, and his vision blurred, his heart beating faster and louder and brighter than it had in a long, long time. “Oh,” He breathed. “Oh.”
Oh.
“She is happy,” Castiel continued. “At peace.” He hesitated for only a second. “She remembers you, too, Peter. She is the one who relayed your tale to me.”
Peter looked down, flexing his hand and unclenching his fists. “... Why?” He asked. “Why are you here? Even if– even if May–”
Castiel coughed slightly. “May Parker didn’t send me,” He admitted. “I went to her.”
Peter’s eyes widened, and the words from last night, buried under memory and supposed hallucinations, sprung to his mind. “You’re really my guardian angel?” He squeaked.
Castiel tilted his head. “I suppose so.”
What was that supposed to mean? Peter shook his head. No, more importantly– “Then where the hell were you when my life broke down around me?” He asked. His voice starting off with a howl, and then fading away to a sad, dead pleading. “Where were you when I lost everything? Every one?” He scoffed. “Where were any of you?”
Castiel grimaced. “I am sorry, Peter,” He said. “That I could not help more. That I could not interfere. That I’ve left you to force yourself into a situation no child should be forced to endure.”
Peter swallowed. “That doesn’t explain why you didn’t come before,” He insisted. Then his face fell, something hitting him full force. “... Is it because I can’t tell anyone now?” He asked in a small voice. “Or…”
Somehow, though Deana and Sam would still credit him with an obliviousness he could accept he had, Castiel knew exactly what Peter was implying. “No!” He rejected it immediately. “And if it was your time,’ twoud be a reaper coming to guide your soul, not an angel. Our domain is purely the heavens.”
Peter’s head jerked up in accusation. “Then what are you doing on Earth?”
Well, nothing was getting past anyone now, was it?
“And– and you haven’t even proven you’re an angel!” Peter added. “Why should I believe you?”
“More than the fact I know who you are?”
“Dr. Strange–”
Castiel nodded and straightened, then vanished with the sound of fluttering wings, flickering back into the room with another plate of pancakes in hand, replacing the first. “Since the other ones are soggy,” He explained. “Though I am sure Dean will be irritated.”
Peter blinked. “Woah. Teleportation?”
“Flying, actually,” Castiel replied. “I would smite a demon for you, but fortunately, we have none within our current vicinity.”
Peter opened his mouth.
Castiel sighed. “Yes, I do know teleportation is otherwise possible. However, there is not much else I can do unless you know.” He huffed. “I suppose you could say it is a matter of faith.”
Peter reddened.
“It was a joke.”
Peter hid his face in his hands and groaned. It took a moment for him to look up and dog into the food, perking up at the taste. “Seriously, though,” He said between bites. “Why are you here? If May didn’t tell you to, why look for me?”
Castiel’s warmth was contagious. “Because out of all the superheroes your land boasts, Peter Parker,” He said. “I looked at you and saw a goodness that very few humans have.”
Peter’s fork clattered against the plate.
“I got, as Sam has informed me at various moments, invested.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Sam? Are you talking about the angel Samael?”
Castiel shook his head. “A human,” He said. “One of my friends here on Earth.”
“... You’ve been here for a while, then.”
The conversation was quickly veering back into dangerous.
“Yes.”
“Then my question stands,” Peter said. He stopped eating and stared at the so-called angels straight in the eyes. “Why didn’t you help us? With Thanos and the multiverse breaking, and–”
Castiel sighed. “Those were not the only problems affecting your world,” He said. “I was aiding in helping subvert the apocalypse.” He pursed his lips. “Again.”
Peter gaped.
“Not to mention the state heaven was in after Michael and Lucifer had their fun,” He added, grumbling. “It took more than a year with Jack, and it still has problems we can’t yet fix–” He cleared his throat. “My apologies. Not the issue at hand.”
“The biblical apocalypse?” Peter asked hoarsely. “The end of days? How– how did we not know of it?!”
Castiel thought about it. “Not exactly,” He revealed. “It is a little more complex than that, but Sam and Dean would be better at explaining than I. I have been told I lack a certain ‘tact’ that humans require to pad their conversations.”
Peter couldn’t help the incredulous bubble of laughter. “There’s a Dean, too?” He mumbled.
Castiel nodded. “He is the one who made your pancakes, in fact. Would you like to meet him?”
Peter stood up and stepped back. “Uh.”
“He does not remember you,” Castiel continued. “Nor does Sam. They were both on this plane when I presume the spell was cast. Heaven was not affected, and I was there, as was Jack.”
Peter’s heart beat faster. “Who’s Jack?”
Castiel’s smile was blinding. “My son,” He said, and it was almost a boast. “A truly remarkable Nephilim.”
Peter opened his mouth and then closed it, and Castiel didn’t reply, only looking at him expectantly. “Uh,” He said. “Maybe– maybe later?” He said weakly. “I have work.”
“Of course,” Castiel said warmly. “I must return to speak to Sam and Dean, but you need not worry about your home. I have warded it to be more robust than even your previous abodes–”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Did I not mention?” Castiel asked like it was perfectly normal for angels to go around doing– doing protection rituals or something for random people. “I have been warding your place of residence since the Avengers broke up.”
Peter stared. “... Really?” He asked, and there was this curious mix of confusion and warmth pooling in him because someone cared. And maybe it was pathetic how much it even mattered to him then, but it had taken being alone with absolutely no one for him to realize how much it let him breathe. Let him close his eyes and go to sleep.
Maybe that was why he’d even slept so long last night - his instincts had recognized that which his mind had said to be impossible.
“Really,” Castiel said.
Peter swallowed. “Thank you.”
Castiel’s smile was amazingly kind. “It was my pleasure.”
Somehow, somewhy, Peter even believed him.